Feed Me Friendship
by SideshowJazz1
Summary: Based on the theatrical ending of the 1986 film. It's been fourteen years since Audrey II dropped onto Earth, and Audrey and Seymour are happily living in the suburbs with their daughter, unaware of the bud in their garden. But shy preteen Juniper confides in the flowers. When one seems to respond to her voice and secrets, Junie will do anything to keep its friendship...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Whoa. Once I started re-watching every version of this show/movie I could find, I spent the whole week with Menken's music stuck in my head. On Saturday, it was Feed Me. On Monday, it was Don't Feed The Plants. For the last couple of days, it's been Dentist. So far, I've had three plot bunnies involving adapting the Faust legend the story plays on. But in the end, I decided on this one, playing on the theatrical "happy" ending of the 1986 musical movie.**

**Plot: Last time we saw Seymour and Audrey, they were finally going to live Audrey's dream, but they didn't know about the tiny little Audrey II in the garden. Now it's 1974, and they've been married for almost fourteen years, while their preteen daughter is starting to grow distant from them. But shy and having little trust in her friends, Juniper Krelborn spends most of her days confiding in the flowers. So what happens when one of them goes to respond to her?**

**Dislcimer: I do not own any of Roger Korman's original characters, or their adapted versions for the musical or 1986 movie. I do, however, own Junie.**

"Junie! Junie, you've got five minutes until the school bus comes, honey!"

I sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. I looked as depressing as always. Long limp dark hair with a ribbon keeping it out of my face but still trailing down my back (no matter how well I brushed and washed it), boring blue check dress for school with boring black ballet flats, scrawny freckled neck, skin-and-bone legs, and a pale face. I always wished I got my Mom's looks. If I was to be honest, I loved Dad just a tiny bit more than Mom, but he was never around on weekdays. He went to the city for work and I was never up early enough for him to do any more than say goodbye to me. Mom mostly stayed home and did all the chores. And now-

"Juniper Krelborn, if you don't get down here now, you're going to have to walk to school and I won't be sorry for you!" Uh-oh, Mom was starting to get mad that I had been stalling. One more minute without an appearance and she'd bring out Renee, my middle name.

I glanced at myself one more time, and then hurried out to the main room. At least there was one feature I got from my Mom – blue eyes. Dad had brown eyes and he once told me he'd had glasses since he was ten. I was now eleven and still no glasses.

"Sorry, Mom. " I said meekly. "I got a little sidetracked making sure I looked right."

Mom's stern face softened. She knew how important it was to look right in this day and at my age. "You've got about two minutes to get to the gate." She gave a sigh. "Well, at least you didn't try to cut it as close as yesterday."

I rolled my eyes out of Mom's sight. It was way too dorky to be more than a minute early for the bus, but there was no way I was going to say that to her. I'd get the "I just want you to get the good education that your father and I never got the chance to have" lecture. Pfft. So what if they'd grown up in some downtown ghetto in the city? They'd managed, hadn't they, living in a two-bedroom bungalow with a flowery garden, having our own washing machine and a long line to hang out our clothes, an iron – our grill at the back, a twelve-inch colour TV...seriously, I'd be happy with that. And even though Mom wasn't a modern women like most of my friends and the other girls in our class were planning to be (she mostly cooked, cleaned, did the shopping and not much else), we still had enough money from Dad's job to get by on top of all our mod cons.

Well, at least it wasn't the "your dad is the most hardworking person out there and does his best for us every day" lecture, that I got every time I asked for things like the new denim shorts my friends were wearing out of school, or wanted a new board game to play. For whatever reason, though, Mom didn't usually give me that lecture when I wanted makeup. She didn't let me go outside in anything more than lip gloss, eyeliner and occasionally concealer if I was particularly spotty, but I was allowed pretty much anything I wanted as long as I didn't wear it outside. I'd once tried to go over to one of my friends' houses with navy eyeshadow on, and Mom almost went berserk (I thould mention here that half the kids in my class lived within six blocks of us, so if I ever wanted to play with one of my friends I could just go a few houses down and knock on a door).

Oh well. Right now, I was makeup free and jumping onto the bus to sit with my friend Kim.

"I wish we had classes outside." I sighed, looking out at the bright blue sky. "It's not fair, keeping us in with this kind of sun."

"Have you forgotten that it's super cold?" Kim teased. "Seriously, Junie, it's _March. _I guess we have to wait until April for spring to actually kick in." (I should mention here that only teachers – and my parents when they were mad – called me Juniper. I was mostly Junie to everyone else – Mom and Dad called me that when I was little, and it stuck, which was probably good – yeah, only Dad would give a daughter a plant name and have it not be a flower).

"Whatever." I shrugged. "It's sunny, though. That makes it warmer."

Kim was one of my many just-in-school friends. Sometimes we'd see each other out of school, but it was mostly if the other kids on the surrounding blocks wanted to start a baseball or soccer game, so that was most everyone. I had playdates with a few other kids, but I never really felt that comfortable with my so-called friends. I could talk about some things with them, but there was often stuff I really needed to talk about that I didn't feel I could tell any of my friends about. I used to tell Dad everything on the weekends, but it was getting to the point where it was stuff you didn't tell your parents, either.

I didn't feel like I could make any new friends that I would be able to trust with everything. Even when a new kid joined the class, I was far too shy to befriend them. I had all kinds of thoughts in my head and emotions, but I was actually pretty quiet, at home and at school. Once I'd even heard Mom telling one of her friends on the phone how lucky she was to "get a quiet little angel for a daughter", because I always did my homework and I was always very polite and nicely dressed, even though I couldn't possibly look pretty.

And on top of that, even when I did make her or Dad angry with me, I was always genuinely sorry, even if I wasn't sorry for the reason I'd made them mad (like today – I wasn't sorry I'd taken my time getting outside, but I was sorry Mom had been cross with me).

I looked forward most of all to when school was over and my homework was done. Dad got home at five, and we'd always get to talk before dinnertime. After that, I'd have to either go and play quietly in my bedroom or watch television (or if it was light, I was allowed to go and play on my trampoline outside) – but if I watched TV, then I'd have to watch my parents cuddling. Ew. But the hour between dinner and Dad getting home was always my favourite part of the day.

Still, that didn't compare to afternoons when I didn't have homework and weekends. That's when I could finally go and talk to my one confidant (I wasn't allowed out after dark apart from Halloween, but during the day I could be outside all I liked).

I knew it sounded silly, but my one confidant was the garden. It was pretty and a nice large open space – Dad kept it neat but beautiful and worked on it every weekend, and the flowers seemed...just sort of open. Like they'd listen to everything I had to say. And Dad always reminded me that plants were alive, so that meant I was talking to something that lived and grew. They didn't talk back, of course, but I felt like I could trust them in a way I couldn't trust my friends. And apart from that, I just liked lying in the sun and thinking about nothing.

And this particular day was a Wednesday, so I'd have homework to do. I wondered if I might still be able to get ten minutes to talk to the flowers this afternoon.

**I know, so sue me, exposition dump. I tried to weave a bit of "regular morning" into Junie's life. I'm trying to portray 1970s life accurately. Audrey's a bit old-fashioned in her dreams, but Junie mentions a lot of her classmates' mothers work. The kids are free-range most of the time...I looked up a lot about suburban life in the 70s and to think, a lot of toys and morals were pretty scary back then. Seriously, look it up. Second hand smoke, alcoholic pregnant women, lead-painted baby toys...**


	2. Chapter 2

**So we know that Junie talks to the flowers. Does she talk to flytraps? Will we even find out in this chapter? Thanks for your review, S. Snowflake.**

The ten minutes in the garden I'd hoped for didn't happen, since I had homework, although I sat outside to do most of it. It was a good thing I had so many classmates on my block, since the math was really hard and I could get with a couple of the other kids and we could copy off each other (Mom thought we worked the stuff out together – she would try to help me if I asked her, but she had left school early and even though she had gone through sixth grade, she'd forgotten most of it and wasn't much help).

There was, at least, one thing that made the day better. Dad was often pretty tired when he got home from a long day in the city, and there was no telling what kind of mood he'd be in. Today, he not only seemed to be in a good mood, but also had more energy than normal.

I was at home by then, so I heard the door open, and then a voice call "I'm home!"

"I'd come out, but I can't leave the stovetop right now!" Mom called from the kitchen. "Give me another half-hour!"

I, however, came out to meet Dad. "How was your day?" I asked dutifully.

Dad grinned at me, his eyes twinkling from behind his glasses. "Suprisingly well, Junie. I'll tell you and your mother together. How about your day?"

I shrugged "All right. You know, same old same old. I got my homework done, though."

Even though our conversations didn't always sound very meaningful, especially now, we usually discussed things at length. Since there was some big good news that both Mom and I had to hear, we didn't talk about the economy in the city, and there were no major current events to talk about, either (apart from the stuff going on with the President, but there hadn't been much progress in that since last year). Instead, the subject focused on what was going on in my life. I never told my parents that my friends weren't really close ones – so I just talked about how it drove me nuts, having to sit inside and focus on math and writing when I knew I could work so much better in the sun and breeze.

"I know what you mean." Dad said sympathetically. "I spent so much of my life in cramped living spaces that having my own space, both inside and outside was like seeing the light for the first time."

I knew a little bit about my family's past, but not much. All Mom and Dad had said was that they met working at a shop in the ghettoes of New York, and after they got married, they had made enough money to move into the suburbs and so they got this house, and had me. This little hint about cramped living spaces wasn't surprising, but it was surprising that it came out.

I knew not to press anything more. "Well, for me it's just being stuck inside rather than having space, but I guess you mean it's the same kind of feeling – like it you were sealed into a little cubicle all day and desperately needed to be part of the world again."

Dad nodded. "That's exactly what I meant, Junie." he said. "But I think you get your love of the outdoors from me. I've always been into growing things – flowers _and _family." he added, laughing. "Maybe you'll want to become a botanist. You're always in the garden."

I shrugged, not wanting to admit I talked to the flowers, and didn't have the least interest in learning about how to grow them.

The good news, by the way, was not all that earth-shattering to me. It was still major from a grown-up point of view, though. Dad's firm, whatever it was (I don't pay that much attention), had a high-up manager leaving. Dad was just the average guy in his office, but he'd apparently been working so well that he'd been offered the job. That meant more money coming in.

Mom was ecstatic, jumping up from the table to hug Dad. "I'm so proud of you, Seymour!" she gushed. "Those people made the right decision."

Dad blushed pink, but he smiled too. "We could probably afford a dryer now." he offered (I knew Mom wanted one). "And a microwave oven. That would make cooking leftovers easier."

I quickly excused myself to do the dishes rather than watch any more sappy stuff – I knew moms and dads married and had kids because they were in love, but my parents were just a tiny bit too devoted to each other around me.

"I hope I never get like Mom over a guy one day." I muttered to myself. Right now, the only thing I felt towards boys was joy when I tackled them in football or took the ball during a soccer game. _Especially _soccer, because I was better at it than some of the boys and got to kick the ball away from them rather a lot.

I didn't get a chance to talk to the flowers that night, anyway. I spent most of the evening playing with my Malibu and Cheerleader Barbie dolls. And before anyone asks, yes, they would've been easy confidants, just as much as the garden. But it was much more of a weight off my shoulders when I used the flowers – again, they were alive, not rubbery plastic with painted lipstick and wiry fair hair – why weren't there many brunette Barbies? At least the Miss America Barbie had brown hair (although it was still a much lighter brown than my dark mouse), but there was no way I'd get that, unless Dad's new job was double the pay he got for the old one.

On Thursday, the day was on repeat, except that Dad didn't have to retell his promotion news. Mom was still acting more lovestruck than usual. I went to school, did my homework, longed to get outside and lounge around while I chatted away, but I just didn't have the time.

It was Friday when I finally got out into the garden. I didn't have any weekend homework, and even if I had, the rule in our house was that I could do it on Saturday. It was a free day for the house, and if I needed adult help, Mom and Dad were on call (if I needed academic help, though, I had to pick the brains of my classmates nowadays).

I spent ten minutes just lying there, whispering about how frustrating it was to never be able to talk about anything meaningful with my friends. "And it's like, if I tell one of them I still sometimes play with Barbies when I don't know if they have any at home, that'll end in disaster because they'll think I'm a baby." I went on. "And if I want to talk about one of the current events Dad told me about, like that huge scandal involving President Nixon, they'll think I'm a total nerd, even though I only listen because Dad's the only one who treats me like an equal person. Mom treats me like a little kid, most of the time."

That's when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked over, and saw a particularly weird-looking plant growing way at the back, almost hidden behind all the flowers. I knew from growing up with a dad like mine that it was some kind of flytrap – not a very well-maintained one, though. It was slumped on the soil, probably dead. But then, had something else moved?

Then the plant, very slowly, raised a leaf, curling and uncurling the end of it for a second. Then it dropped down again.

There was no breeze.

**I'm going to leave it there. The musical and movie never made it clear if Audrey II actually needs blood to live. It needs blood to grow and it wilts if it doesn't get blood, but how long does it take to die completely? I'm cheating a little bit, but I'd say this one has mutated from the original (plants do mutate and become less vulnerable, just like humans – that's what evolution is), enough to live without blood for a long time, but be unable to do anything except make sucking sounds if it detects an open wound, and drink from a source if it was placed onto that area.**

**Another little note: I'm writing from research. The Watergate scandal involving Richard Nixon was a big thing around late 1973 and carried on through to 1974, eventually causing his resignation in August. This takes place in March, and the scandal was still going on. I considered referencing the Cold War, but...nah.**

**Additionally, you may have noticed that Junie seems like a bit of a daddy's girl. Because Seymour works full-time and Audrey is a housewife, I figured that Junie would be more attached to the parent who's not around as much, especially since she loves to be around nature. Hope you liked this chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, Junie's noticed the dying flytrap. What's she going to do about it? Thanks for reviewing, Littleshopofaudrey and CMR Rosa.**

Even though I'd never noticed the flytrap in the garden before, I didn't mention this to my parents. I did, however, find time to go to the library on Saturday to get a book on plant life (my parents didn't read much and we only had a few ancient books on plants), so I could figure out what was up with a moving flytrap. I mean, I knew they could open up to invite insects in, but this one was tightly closed and was moving its _leaves. _There had to be something in a modern book about that kind of thing.

Nothing seemed to fit, though. I could see similar little mouth-like features, but the ruffled leaves around it, one pink layer and one green, didn't show up in any picture. All the flytraps had pink around the mouth area and on the inside. The flytrap I'd seen hadn't opened up and it had pink around that area, but it also had two layers of ruffles, and the inside one was definitely pink. All the flytraps had green leaves and nothing more. Plus they had long thin teeth on the outside rather than the inside. I hadn't seen any teeth in this flytrap.

On Saturday and Sunday, nevertheless, I went out to inspect the little flytrap. It still looked dead, but it acted as if it could see me, raising its leaves and once making a sucking sound, like it was begging me to give it something.

I should have asked Dad about it, really, since he was the authority on plants in the house and he would've known what it was, but I never got around to asking him. I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was a problem I felt like I should solve. Like, the flytrap was asking _me _to help it thrive.

I gave a few things a try. When I tried watering it, the plant continued to slump and one leaf waggled from side to side, like it was shaking a finger and saying "_Don't you do that again_." So clearly water wasn't the problem.

I tried putting fertilizer on it. I tried feeding it a dead insect. I tried out every gardening trick I knew (I'd seen them all used by Dad in the last few years). Every time, I got the same little waggle of the leaf. The only time it showed any other sign was when I tried singing to it. It slightly raised its mouthpiece and made the sucking sound again, but didn't give me any other indication of what it wanted. It was clearly hungry or thirsty, but for what? Not insects. Not water. Did flytraps need anything else?

I discovered the answer on the very next Wednesday. I'd been busy on Monday with homework, and on Tuesday, I had more work and then had a baseball game with everyone on my street (a complete waste of time, since we lost and I only got five runs in six innings). On Wednesday, I finally got another chance to go into the garden. I had a short heart-to-heart (or heart-to-petal) with the flowers, also wondering what was up with the flytrap. That's when it happened.

I was getting quite close to the roses, and of course, I ended up scratching my palm with one of the thorns. This was why I usually stuck to the flowerbed, and not the vine plants winding their way around everywhere. But I liked roses and jasmine, so I occasionally took the chance, and this time, I ended up drawing blood from my palm.

When I left to approach the flowerbed, going to stem the flow of blood, that's when I heard the sucking sound again. The flytrap had lifted its bud and was making the sound louder than it had before. When I held my hand nearer, it opened its mouth wide, showing little pointy teeth instead of the long spiny ones in the pictures in the book.

"Are you..." I spoke out loud. "Is it _blood _that you wanted?"

The bud bobbed its head up and down.

"Well..." I thought about it. "I guess a few drops won't hurt." And it didn't hurt. The plant perked up a whole lot and even grew a little, and it wasn't like I lost several pints, just five drops.

The plant's "mouth" moved, forming words. I could just about read what it meant to say. "Um...you're saying...th...thank you?"

The bud nodded again. I smiled. "No problem. I don't want you to die. I could spare that much blood."

Well, it was weird that this little thing was a vampire flytrap. But it seemed like a friendly little thing, and it seemed to like me. Maybe I had something in the garden that not only could I confide in, but that was actively listening.

I couldn't go out on Thursday or Friday. On Saturday, the flytrap seemed vaguely droopy, but just three drops of blood perked it up, although this time, it didn't grow right in front of my eyes. And when I started confiding in it how homework was getting harder, and now I had nothing to talk about to my friend except current events that I heard from Dad, dolls, and it and I didn't want them to think I was weird or babyish, it was nodding like it really understood what I was going through. Then, it finally moved its mouth again like it was talking. I had to concentrate really hard to understand what it was saying, but eventually I got it.

"You don't want me to tell anyone else about you?" I deciphered. The flytrap nodded. "But...the thing is, you grow when I feed you five drops of blood. Aren't you going to keep growing?" The flytrap paused, then jerked itself in the direction of my trampoline. Then it mouthed "Got a month. Then I'm your size."

I couldn't believe it. Yeah, it said it would grow, and since I actually SAW it grow, I wasn't shocked that it would grow a lot. But...the size of an average eleven-year-old like me? Okay, so I was a bit smaller and skinnier than the average eleven-year-old, but still. Even tiger lilies weren't taller than me!

But I used all my strength to move the trampoline closer to the flowerbed, although I positioned it so Dad could still get there if he had to. The flytrap was on the edge and right near the back, so while it was this small, no one would notice it. And now I'd moved the trampoline (shut up, I'm stronger than I look, plus it took me an hour anyway) – only I could squeeze through the gap between it and the fence and have enough room to lounge there and talk.

The secret was safe.

**But how safe are YOU, Junie? It looks like your hand's already suffered for the plant's needs, although I guess you would've scratched your palm on the roses, flytrap or no flytrap.**

**But seriously, Junie might've made a friend, but, be honest, how safe is it to befriend an alien vampire?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Let's find out how Junie's coping with her painful little secret. And also...er...at the end of the first paragraph, I don't own "Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing", Judy Blume does – it's just it came out in 1972 and I'm sure Junie would have read it. Thanks for reviewing, AstralRaven – remember, Junie's eleven and has no one else to confide in, so she's willing to keep it secret.**

March turned into April, and the weather became warmer. And I grew closer and closer to the flytrap. It felt amazing to have a friend who could communicate back to me, but never seemed to judge. It would still do its best to mouth what it wanted to say, although it always kept it short. After two weeks, I stopped thinking of it as "the flytrap" and started calling it "Fudge" (I'd just read a book about a boy who called his little brother that – and just as this thing swallowed my blood, the little brother swallowed the boy's pet turtle).

And yeah, Fudge still fed on my blood. Not every day – I didn't get to see it every day. I just gave it four drops every three days, and every week, it would have grown a bit. By the start of April, it was about as big as a two-year-old. So it wasn't quite my size yet, but it was the size of a person.

Mom and Dad still didn't know about it. I'd done what Fudge had asked, and kept it secret. The trampoline kept it pretty much hidden, and I actually kind of liked having a new view when I felt like jumping. And as the weather warmed up, I enjoyed being outside more and more. If Mom had let me do my homework outside when I wasn't doing it with my friends, I would have, but nope. But the daylight was longer, so it was getting to a point where I would get more chances to go out. That's how I managed to feed Fudge regularly.

Even though it sort of talked, mouthing things whenever it wanted to communicate, it mostly just listened when I poured out everything to it, sometimes nodding or giving an air of empathy. If I talked to it on a feeding day and it thought I'd forgotten, it would sometimes point to its mouth and make a sucking sound.

As for how I fed it? I had an old razor Mom used to use, so I could cut my finger from that, as long as I cleaned it before and after so my finger didn't get infected. I tried to only cut my right pointer. Then no one would notice I was bleeding every few days (especially since I was left-handed).

Talking to Fudge was not the same as talking to the flowers. While it had the same openness that I liked in the flowers, it was different. Better, because I knew it was listening, even if it didn't always talk back. I didn't really mind that I couldn't talk to my friends, because I had Fudge, and it listened. The only drawback, besides giving it blood, was that I couldn't talk to anyone about it. I'd never mentioned talking to the flowers, either, but at least I could express how much I liked being around them to Dad. I knew Fudge wouldn't even want me to mention its existence to him.

I felt easier around my "friends" at school, because since I felt listened to more than ever, I didn't worry that something I needed to vent on would slip out, like the fact that I still played with dolls or whatever was going on in the world. I didn't even try to talk about Fudge. I mean, once I'd complained about my parents being a bit too sappy and lovey-dovey in front of me, and I'd been teased about that for weeks, just because I'd let people know about it. If anyone got wind of me confiding in a flytrap, I hated to think what would happen. So while that one secret didn't get out, I could confide in Fudge about most things, and when I talked to my friends, nothing came out except what the last teen magazine said and why we couldn't wear whatever we wanted at school ("What makes hotpants inappropriate for girls when the boys can wear shorts whenever they want?")

April wore on, and by the time Easter was over, Fudge had reached the size of a kindergartener. It was silent and content on a few drops of blood every few days at the start of April, but just before Easter, it started mouthing a new word.

"O?" I asked it, the first time it said it. It sort of half nodded, and then mouthed the word again.  
"Or..." I frowned. Fudge mouthed it again.

"M...or...oh, more!" I nodded. Then I glanced down at my band-aids. "What about I give it to you every day instead of every three days?" I suggested. "Or still every three days but three days' worth?" Fudge nodded enthusiastically, reaching out one of its new vines to brush my hand affectionately.

Don't get me wrong, I knew it wasn't normal for a plant, even a flytrap, to live on blood, but as long as it wasn't hurting anyone, I wanted to keep my new friend. And I liked having someone listen to me, when they wouldn't talk to anyone else.

The new arrangement worked up until the end of April. It got serious on literally the second of May. I remember, because just the day before, Dad told me that President Nixon was looking everywhere to vindicate himself from all the accusations, therefore incriminate everyone else.

"What is this teaching us?" I'd complained. "That the kids of today's America should never ever own up to any of their wrongs? That even murderers should just say 'The devil made me do it'?"

I thought I saw a flash of...something...on Dad's face when I said that. Like he was reliving something frightening. But it was only there for a moment. Then he said "That's how I feel, Junie. President Nixon just makes it clear why I feel the Democrats are a much better party."

Discussing the news each day meant I knew what he was talking about.

However, the following day was when it happened. It was a Thursday afternoon. Mom was at the patio, trying to get the grill to work (Dad usually was the one who did the cooking on the grill, and only on weekends, but Mom had taken it into her head to have a go), and Dad was still at work, but I went out to talk to Fudge.

"So," I was saying, "It's not really fair to insist we all wear droopy T-shirts and disgusting shorts to do Gym class when all the girls, including me, are much more comfortable in denim hotpants and plain red T-shirts. I mean, the school goes on about school pride, then they make us all dress like homeless people for a whole hour!" (I had complained about this with my friends, but I didn't want to vent too much in case they thought I was making too big a deal out of it).

"I mean, if we really have to wear them, why can't the state bribe us by making a Gym Class Barbie or something?" I said. But then, Fudge made a sucking sound, and I knew what that meant.

"Okay, okay." I gave a sigh. "Just give me a chance to get some out." I gently ran the razor over my thumb until a little blood trickled out, and then I fed several drops to Fudge. In front of me, it grew. Only a little, but a little was enough.

I'd just turned to go, when-

"More!"

I started at the unfamiliar voice, almost afraid to turn around. But I did. Nothing was out of place.  
"Who said that?"

"Me, girl! It was me!"

Fudge's mouth was moving. The voice boomed out like one of the Jackson 5's voices, only deeper. "C'mon, Junie, I'm a growing plant! I need more!" it pleaded in the terrifying voice it had just acquired.

I took another step back. "N-not today, I..." I stammered.

Fudge paused, waiting for me to finish.

I turned and ran into the house, faster than I'd ever run before.

**I'd say that's the reaction I'd have if a silent object suddenly started talking. Junie will get over it, and Fudge (yes, I'm just calling it that) will have realized that it got too greedy too fast. But how will it ever get Junie to come back to it?**


	5. Chapter 5

**We're about to find out what happens next. Right now. Thanks for reviewing, Anonymous lurker.**

I didn't go near Fudge or the flowerbed for the next two days. I missed confiding, but I really, really didn't want Fudge to start talking to me again.

I still didn't tell anyone what I'd heard. I still felt a bit of loyalty to the plant, like I still needed to obey its wishes and keep it quiet, even though it had scared me. Or perhaps, I didn't want to admit that it had scared me. I was almost starting to wonder if I'd just imagined it talking to me.

On Sunday, though, my brain insisted I go back out and find out if I really did hear it talking to me. It was time I fed it, anyway. And it was OK, at first. All it did was open its mouth. I gave it the twelve drops I promised and one extra drop, just in case. The ordinariness of it was enough to make me a little calmer, but not enough to lie in my usual position.

Instead, I hoisted myself up to sit on the edge of my trampoline. Then I took the plunge. "Fudge, I know you can hear me and respond to me. But did I imagine it, or did you really talk to me?"

There was a pause, then Fudge opened its mouth and said "Yeah, I talked to you, Junie. Sorry I scared you. You've fed me enough so I can talk back to you. You still won't tell anyone? You'll still come out here and talk to me?"

I softened, listening. It didn't sound demanding now. It sounded gentler. It was the same deep voice, but it didn't boom out like a megaphone.

"Yes, I'll still come out." I said. "I'll still talk to you. You haven't judged me about it before. But now you could talk back. And I'll still feed you."

The plant nodded, and then reached out a vine to touch my hand. "You're a good friend, girl." it said. "And maybe I'll be able to be a better friend to you as I get stronger."

I didn't doubt it. It was a big plus that Fudge was a good listener that could actually answer me, now.

Just one thing concerned me. When Fudge had first talked, it had been asking for more blood. It wasn't even the first time it had asked for more. Of course, it hadn't asked for more that day, but it made me wonder. I was getting a little bit lightheaded every so often as it was. Would it continue asking for more?

I kept coming back and talking, though. And feeding the plant. I had Band-Aids on all my fingers now, feeding Fudge extra to make sure it wouldn't ask for more. I was hoping my parents didn't notice it. My friends had noticed, but I was able to explain it away, saying I'd scraped my fingers on the metal part of my trampoline when I fluffed a flip, but I knew Mom would know I hadn't been attempting something as ambitious as a flip, no matter how many times I'd played on my trampoline.

As it was, I tried to think of a way to breach the subject with Dad without betraying Fudge. I'd have to wait until the weekend, or choose a day where he didn't seem tired from work, but I knew he would be the most likely to take my question seriously. I could have asked Mom, but I knew from experience that if I asked her any serious or hypothetical questions, she either wouldn't have an answer or wouldn't take it seriously enough for me to get any helpful information.

It was difficult to figure out how to word it. The idea was that if someone wanted me to do them a favour, but that favour would cause me to get hurt, whether I should do it or not. The thing was, exactly how much blood could I lose before it was too much?

I'd have to take a medical book out of the library before anything, I decided. Asking advice about Fudge could wait until I found out a little bit myself. It hadn't asked for more blood than I was giving it since the first time it talked, after all.

When I finally got a book out of the library and checked the book, it certainly didn't think losing blood was healthy. But it didn't say how much blood I could have afforded to lose, only blabbing on about leeches and blood transfusion, giving it to others. It made me wonder if Fudge had its own blood, and me giving it mine was a kind of transfusion. Nah, it was probably just food.

Still, I realized that time was running out. Once, when I was doing homework, I'd overheard Mom on the phone, talking to one of her friends. "I know eleven's an age where everything starts changing," she was saying, "But she's really becoming so pale these days. She says everything's fine and she's her usual helpful self, but it's still worrying me. What do you think I should do?"

I knew straightaway that she must have been talking about me. Was I really so pale?

I checked in my bedroom mirror. My cheeks weren't as pink as they usually were, true, but I thought, on the whole, Mom was worrying about nothing, just like usual. Hopefully she wouldn't actually ask me anything. I couldn't make excuses forever. For now, I'd just have to say that I'd quarrelled with one of my friends and think up some other excuses.

I talked over the problem with Fudge. "I know if goes without saying that I can't stop feeding you unless I want you to die," I said, "But what should I tell Mom if she asks me why I'm pale? I can give the excuse I quarrelled with a friend once, but after that, what can I say?"

Fudge chuckled. "Come on, you can be more creative! Just give yourself a little colour. You got makeup, right? Make your face pinker. If you do it right, she'll never know the difference."

I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it. If there was one thing Mom would let me buy, it was makeup. If it was subtle enough, she'd think there was no difference between the makeup and my naturally rosy cheeks of two months ago.

Sadly, Mom wasn't the only one who had noticed I wasn't quite as rosy as usual. That same night at dinner, I noticed Dad looking at me with an anxious expression. "Are you all right, Junie?" he asked. "You look a bit pale."

I shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. "It's probably just the light." I bluffed. "I'm fine. You could even call me peachy."

However, when I'd left the lounge that night and was on my way to my bedroom to see if I had any makeup to make me look better, I heard Dad say "You know, Audrey, I think maybe we should book a check-up for Junie. She seems happy enough, but it's not just her face being pale. She seems to have less energy than usual, too. I know I'm not home enough, but I've noticed she used to be out around the neighbourhood all the time on weekends, but now she only ever goes as far as the garden."

"I don't think it's a medical problem." Mom said. "I think she might have had some problems at school. She likes to unwind in the garden, so her spending so much time there isn't all that unusual. Maybe it's just a stress thing. I'd give it a few more days."

I understood that concern and went back to my original plan – to check on my makeup and then play with my Barbies.

Well, all I learned that day was that I'd need to start buying more foundation ASAP. I only had a dab left. I just had to hope that Mom's comment about "a few more days" would buy me time until I could get some more.

**Should Junie really hope that, though? That was a good save on Fudge's part, but only time will tell if it will get demanding enough that even foundation won't help its victims...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay. Junie. Makeup. Fudge. Vampire alien. Let's continue. Thanks for reviewing, ShadowLord56 and Mysterio.**

Well, I guess the makeup worked. Dad said nothing more about getting me a check-up, and Mom didn't seem to notice that I was wearing more makeup than usual. I looked pink-cheeked and healthy, mostly. I also made sure I only visited Fudge every couple of days. I'd read in the medical book I'd found that new blood cells were being made every second, so I gave them a chance to regenerate before I gave any more.

I'd explained to Fudge why I couldn't risk it, but it hadn't been too happy. "Aren't we friends, Junie?" it had said. "What does it mean to you when you can't help me whenever you want?"

"I'm trying to protect both of us!" I'd said pleadingly. "If Mom or Dad get suspicious, you're toast. And if I give you a lot of blood too fast, I could get seriously ill. And then who would feed you?"

Fudge tilted its mouth area, then said "You know, you're not the only one who could feed me..."

I frowned. "You live on blood, and I'm the only one who knows about you. What do you mean, I'm not the only one?"

"Don't you have other friends?" Fudge reasoned. "People who trust you, even if you don't trust them? Ask one over. Cause some kinda cut, collect some blood and I get an extra snack."

A thought hit me. "You're going to need more as you get bigger, aren't you? How big are you going to get? If you get bigger than my trampoline, I can't do anything to hide you. And another thing – Dad spends a lot of each weekend in the garden. What if he finds you?"

Fudge missed a beat. Then it said "We can take it slow, if that's what you want. We'll talk again in two days. You don't have to use my suggestion...at least, not yet."

I kept going at the same pace I had for a while, giving only as much blood as I thought I should. I was getting more and more moments of dizziness. By the time of the summer holidays at the end of June, I was having that happen every day.

Worse, Fudge was still growing. It really was my size now, starting to poke over the trampoline. Not much, but I was sure someone would notice it soon. Only Dad worked in the garden, but even then...well, it didn't matter. As long as I didn't talk about it. I wasn't sure why it didn't want anyone else to know about it, but even if Dad saw it, he wouldn't know what it was, right?

So that's what I asked, on a sunny afternoon. "Why don't you want me to say anything about you? I mean, I looked at a lot of plant books when I first found you, and I can't find you in any of them. You'd just be a new discovery. Nothing would happen to you."

Fudge sounded impatient. "You're not actually going to tell anyone? If someone sees me, that's my problem. But if you start running your mouth about me, that'll be your problem. I mean, look at me." It opened its mouth wide. "I'm your friend as long as you keep quiet. But if you break your promise-" This time, it wrapped a vine around my waist and pulled me close. "I can hang onto you here as long as I want."

I couldn't believe it. Fudge was _threatening _me now? I thought it wanted to be my friend.

"I'm not going to tell." I managed in a tiny voice. "I just wanted to know why. Are we still friends?"

Fudge let me go. "We're always friends, as long as you don't talk about me. And as long as you keep me alive." it added. "I'm kinda starving right now."

Wordlessly, I fed it, then l ran back inside, stopping briefly as a moment of dizziness overwhelmed me. I wondered momentarily if I really was losing too much blood. But if I stopped feeding Fudge now, it wouldn't be happy. And I wouldn't be able to go to the garden at all, because Fudge would start calling me, and it had just demonstrated that it could tie me up for as long as it wanted to force me to feed it.

I was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to tell someone about Fudge, Well, I couldn't tell someone properly, but I could sort of...just...hint at it, right?

I kept putting it off for the next few days, though. I didn't want to ask Dad when he got home from work, because he was almost always tired and it was enough to spend time with him. And I didn't want to ask Mom. I didn't think she'd have an answer for me, or if it sounded hypothetical, she might not take it seriously. I needed a real answer.

The weekend came. I actually had a rather good Saturday. The kids on my block invited me to play soccer, so I was able to forget about Fudge and throw myself into the game. Plus I got to tackle almost every kid on the other team at some point. Actually, I went for the boys a bit more than was really called for. It helped that my teammates cheered me on every single time I tackled anyone, or got the ball. I even scored two goals.

I stayed away from Fudge all day. It was tempting to go to the garden, but I resisted the urge and just talked to my Barbies instead. It didn't make me feel heard, but at least I didn't have to give up any more blood or feel threatened. Even though I knew I'd have to go back and feed Fudge sometime, I wanted to have just one day when I didn't have to worry, and I just had to hope it would still listen to me the next time I saw it.

But on Sunday, circumstances changed. That is, they changed in a way that was simultaneously better and worse. Something happened that meant that Fudge's fate was taken completely out of my hands.

I had already fed Fudge and was just talking to it when I heard a clatter behind me. I instinctively turned.

Dad had just come out of the house to work in the garden, the way he often did. But this was the first time I'd been talking to Fudge when he came out. He'd just dropped his pruning shears and any colour in his face seemed to disappear.

There was a long pause, as we just looked at each other. Then, Dad spoke, very quietly. "Juniper, go back into the house right now. Go to the living room. I'll be there in a minute."

I knew he was serious when he didn't use my nickname. I didn't know exactly what I was in trouble for, but I knew it wasn't good. And I knew, right then, that there was something more to Fudge than I knew.

**It had to happen eventually.** **Fudge was growing bigger and bigger and it couldn't stay a secret forever. Considering that Seymour still works in the garden, he was going to spot it sometime. It just happens that he saw it before it drained Junie and she had to start on other people.**


End file.
